A Pint is a Pint
by TK The Tenacious
Summary: "A pint is a pint, and on this night, I think I shall have quite a few..." Bilbo Baggins was on his way home when he ran into quite the unexpected guest... and off they went to the Green Dragon to swap stories, poems, and riddles. "The more I drink, the m


Disclaimer: All characters belong to Tolkien. 

  
  


Authors Notes: An odd little story that takes place some time before the quest and yet some time after Bilbo adopts Frodo. Many thanks to The Phantom, who is my most trustworthy beta reader. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Dusk settled over the Shire. The dark began its' eager pursuit of the daylight, chasing it away past the fields and the meadows, over log and stream, covering the world in the soft gentle colors of twilight. The stars began to creep out of their beds to greet the night and the sun settled low in the west. The Man in the Moon sent the whispering winds swiftly over the land stirring the night lullaby. Dew began to settle, resting like butterflies on the blades of grass and the little flower buds shut themselves up to prevent getting their small homes wet. 

  
  


On the road from Bag End to the Green Dragon, not hardly anyone was stirring, all except a Hobbit who had had quite a few drinks that evening. His hair was brown with soft ripples of white beginning to show, and he was wearing a simple green waistcoat with a gold watch chain extending from his trouser pocket to his waistcoat pocket. In his right hand he brandished a walking sick and his left rested in his pocket by the watch.

  
  


His gait was one that could be described as jolly. For like most Hobbits, he knew how to hold his ale. He swayed a bit to something he was muttering, for he was very fond of poetry and singing. Tilting his head up he noted that it was indeed getting a bit dark, but he was in no hurry; the Shire wasn't the least bit dangerous, not even at night.

  
  


As he walked, Bilbo (for that is who it was) began to realize that there was someone coming toward him on the dark and empty road. He squinted slightly at the approaching figure. It was taller than a Hobbit, with a long beard that trailed down his chest and seemed to stick out from the rest of his body. He was tall, which immediately told Bilbo that he was not a Hobbit, but he was not one of the Big Folk. As the space closed between them, he began to wonder if it was Dwarf. 

  
  


"Hello there!" Bilbo called out in a friendly manner.

  
  


The figure came closer and called out.

  
  


"Hello there to you too, you silly little Hobbit!"

  
  


Bilbo was taken aback. How incredibly rude. This was most likely a Dwarf. Dwarves were well know from being unthinkably blunt, even to the point of being downright rude. As he came closer, Bilbo saw that this was indeed the oddest Dwarf he had ever seen. His coat was brilliant blue and he wore large yellow boots, and in his hat was perched a huge feather that danced and swayed in the wind. 

  
  


As the two of them met in the road Bilbo gasped. 

  
  


"You're not a Dwarf!" He said quickly.

  
  


The man laughed hard and his eyes sparkled even in the fading light.

  
  


"No, sir, I am no Dwarf. What is your name so that I may address you properly?"

  
  


Bilbo was stunned at forgetting his manners. Bowing quickly, he said,

  
  


"Bilbo Baggins at your service."

  
  


The man smiled and answered him, "And Tom Bombadil at yours."

  
  


With that he swept off his hat and gave a low bow till his beard brushed the ground. Bilbo was shocked. Tom Bombadil! He was merely a legend... A myth that was always being spread about by Farmer Maggot. But even as he looked at him in the growing moonlight he did realize that there was an aura of mystery shrouding the lighthearted figure in front of him. From his odd boots to the tip of his white feather this man was different.

  
  


"And where will you be heading now, Mr. Baggins?" He asked. His voice was similar to that of water; trilling, yet rich and powerful.

  
  


"I was on my way home." Bilbo answered, keeping his voice level.

  
  


Tom shook his head and stroked his beard as in deep thought.

  
  


"I was hoping you would accompany me down to the Green Dragon for a few ales."

  
  


Bilbo looked at him suspiciously. He could see the twinkle of mischief sparkling in the depths of Tom's eyes.

"Why?" He asked, confusion replacing suspicion.

  
  


Tom laughed long and hard.

  
  


"Do you need a reason to come with Tom to the Dragon?"

  
  


Bilbo didn't know what to say. This man, this... thing was intriguing, while at the same time vague.

  
  


"Well... well no, it's just I've only come from there not a few minutes ago and... why me?"

  
  


Tom looked at him a moment and answered in a rhythmic fashion.

  
  


"Tom had gone to meet old Muddyfoot Maggot. But the old Hobbits' taken ill with a cold and I'm seeking a companion to share ale and stories with." Then looking at Bilbo more closely he added, "Besides my little friend, you've hardly had anything to drink yet! Not good for stories..."

  
  


Bilbo was flustered. Of course he was good for stories! Bilbo was one of the finest tellers of tales in all the Shire; a point he prided himself greatly on. He would go with this man to the inn and he would tell him of his adventures.

  
  


"Of course I'm good for stories!" He said in a blustery manner. "I will go with you, as a matter of fact, I shall lead the way. Follow me my good man."

  
  


At this phrase Tom laughed again. This time the wind ran through the leaves as all of nature laughed with him. The owls hooted and the clouds swirled on high and all of the Shire laughed with Tom.

  
  


Bilbo felt afraid. As Tom stood there laughing Bilbo noticed the changes all around him. The very tress all around them seemed to be trying to get closer to here this grand joke that so amused Tom. At last Bilbo released a shuddering breath as he stopped.

  
  


"I," Tom said grandly. "Am no Man. Nor am I a Hobbit, Elf, Wizard, Ent or Dwarf."

  
  


Bilbo was terrified. Was this a spirit? Frantically he ran over old man Maggots' rambling in his mind. Spirit... Spirit of Arda. That's what Maggot had called his legend once. He called Tom the Spirit of Arda. _Mercy! _Bilbo thought._ What do I do?_ He slowly looked at the figure in front of him.

  
  


"Actually, I believe I have already had quite enough drink for tonight." Bilbo said shakily.

  
  


With that he tried to step around Tom, but with another bout of laughter, he spun the bewildered Hobbit around in a circle and set off in the direction of the Green Dragon. 

  
  


As Bilbo watched him head down the road, the Tookish part of him began to stir and chide him. He felt the itch of adventure, and to the shock of his Baggins side, he took off after Tom.

  
  


Rounding the bend he saw him, leaning against the fence post of a Hobbit hole with a smile on his face.

  
  


"Good evening again, Mr. Baggins." He said, his voice full of mirth. "I thought you had scuttled off to your Hobbit hole for the night. Are you well?"

  
  


Bilbo smiled sheepishly and replied, "Quite well, Bombadil, quite well. I have just decided that another pint sounds like a lovely idea, and since we are going the same way, why not share each others' company? If you don't mind, that is."

  
  


Pushing himself away from the wall with a quick chuckle, Tom fell into step beside Bilbo and the two made their way down the now dark road to the glowing firelight of the Green Dragon.

  
  


~*~

  
  


As they neared the inn, the two noticed that it was quite empty of occupants. Entering, they saw only the owner going steadily over the days' books, his eyeglasses sliding down his nose. He was short (even for a Hobbit) and his name was Milo Deephills. Milo was a quaint hobbit who enjoyed the bustle of running an inn, and who also had a fondness of conversation. He would talk to customers as long as they cared to talk to him. His hair had long gone a brilliant sliver and he wore a soiled apron over his brown waistcoat.

  
  


"May I help you?" He asked, closing the big brown book and storing it under the counter top. Then, noticing Bilbo, he said, "Bilbo Baggins! Weren't it you that just left here not twenty minutes ago? I hope everything was all right... I was just about to close up seein' as no one has come in since ye left. Course, if you're wanting to stay the night I can put you up..."

  
  


Bilbo smiled at him, my how Milo could talk! Shaking his head he simply answered,

  
  


"Two ales Milo, and we will be by the fire where I usually sit."

  
  


Milo nodded and started fixing the drinks as Tom and Bilbo settled opposite each other next to the fire. Bilbo stared at it awhile, transfixed as the flames licked up the logs and the embers that smoldered beneath it all. His eyes slowly rose from the fire and rested on the figure across from him. Tom's face was bathed in the soft light of the fire and he had a smile on his face. The shadows played across his complexion and his eyes shone all the brighter. Again a little prick of fear rose in Bilbo's mind, but it was dulled by the arrival of good drink. 

  
  


With a hearty cheer he toasted to good health with Tom and the two fell into a relaxing conversation, starting out with pleasantries but gradually building into far more interesting subjects. Poetry, songs, and most of all stories. 

  
  


If Bilbo had considered himself a good spinner of yarns, he now realized that he had no room to brag around Tom Bombadil. Tom conjured up tales from far beyond the Shire. Tales from when the world was new, tales of other places other times. All Bilbo could do was sit there and stare at his companions' extensive knowledge.

  
  


"Barrow-wights can be crafty and dangerous on the best of days!" Tom said with a laugh.

  
  


Bilbo laughed merrily and added. "But not as dangerous as adopting a tweenager to live with you I am sure!"

  
  


The two laughed hard and started swapping poems and riddles. 

  
  


"A pint is a pint and on this night

I think I shall have quite a few.

The more I drink

The more I think

Tom Bombadil looks like a wight!" Bilbo chirped after his 3rd one

  
  


"When Hobbits rhyme it is off beat

and they all know that it's true 

One, Bilbo, tried

Till his eyes grew wide

And he fell right out of his seat!" Tom added joyously.

  
  


The two talked as the hours ticked by rapidly. After a time Milo said goodnight and asked Bilbo to leave the money on the counter in the morning. Bilbo nodded and turned back to the riddle game he was engaged in. Tom had leaned closer to Bilbo and the fire was slowly dwindling to nothing but coals. The light began to fade and room gradually became darker.

  
  


"I see all, though I never move

Many see me, but I am what must be feared 

If you dare come close, enter through my secret hole 

Blood and fire have washed o'er me before 

And death and sorrow are all that fill my lonely shell 

I am alone and have never worked 

Yet richness can be found at my heart." 

  
  


Bilbo thought for awhile as Tom leaned back, satisfied that his riddle was suitably vexing. Bilbo thought hard on all this and turned it over in his brain till he replied, 

  
  


"The Lonely Mountain!" He said with triumph. "It seems you have forgotten, Tom, that I have been there! I told that story earlier, didn't I?" 

  
  


Tom nodded and laughed heartily. "I have not forgotten! You have told Tom this many times tonight! Never mind your riddles; I know all of their answers."

  
  


Bilbo smiled slightly and took another sip of his ale. 

  
  


"Songs then?" He said slowly. 

  
  


Tom glanced out the window and nodded. The moon had passed its' peak and was begining to seek out the daylight again.

  
  


"How's this for one?" Tom asked happily and began in a quick tempo and a joyous voice. 

  
  


_There is an inn, a merry old inn_

_Beneath an old grey hill,_

_And there they brew a beer so brown_

_That the Man in the Moon himself came down_

_One night to drink his fill. _

  
  


Bilbo laughed and after a while the two began to make up verses for this silly little song. Bilbo would sing one verse and then Tom would fire back another part. On and on the song went till it was quite long.

  
  


_With a ping and pong the fiddle strings broke!_

_The cow jumped over the Moon,_

  
  


Tom sang loudly. And Bilbo answered:

  
  


_And the little dog laughed to see such fun,_

_And the Saturday dish went off at a run_

_With the silver Sunday spoon!_

  
  


When the song was finished the two sat there smiling. 

  
  


"Paper!" cried Bilbo, as he took some off of Milo's counter and began to scribble down what they had just sung.

  
  


"The tune will be a bit harder to remember but I must have the words at least." He said quickly.

  
  


When he had finished, he rolled the paper up and carefully stowed it in his bag, next to his pipe and weed. By now, the sun had begun to climb and chase the night away in their never-ending game of tag. Tom stood up and stretched his limbs.

  
  


"I have had a most enjoyable time this night, Bilbo Baggins, and I thank you." Tom said with a sweeping bow. 

  
  


"It's been a pleasure." Bilbo answered honestly.

  
  


Tom's eyes twinkled. "Yes. But Tom must be going; Goldberry will be waiting, you know."

  
  


Bilbo stood and dusted himself off. "Yes, yes." He said. "Your lady friend, isn't it?" He asked.

  
  


Tom laughed and nodded. "Now I take my leave of you Bilbo. I am almost glad that my other friend was ill. It has indeed been a pleasure." 

  
  


Tom bent over and shook Bilbo's hand vigorously. With a smile and a yawn, Bilbo placed the proper amount of money on the table and went with Tom to the door. Outside the Shire was being bathed in the suns' rosy glow and the last of the stars were crawling back into their hiding places. The grass seamed to reach for the bright light of the sun, and the birds began to sing. 

  
  


With one last look at his companion Bilbo said quietly. 

  
  


"Goodnight, or morning I should say I guess? Well, goodbye old fellow, maybe we'll meet again eh?"

  
  


But Tom had gone. His voice was merely an echo in the hills...

  
  


~*~ 

  
  


On the next day when the sun was fading, Bilbo once again turned and made his way down to the Green Dragon for a bit of ale. As he walked along, all his thoughts were focused on the unusual events from the night before. He could hardly remember any of it now; it seemed more like a dream then anything else. 

  
  


The sun was making its' decent when he entered the pub and took in the smells and sounds of all the bustle that went on in the early evening. Most of the stools and chairs were taken, except for two close up by the fire. 

  
  


"Hello there, Bilbo!" called out an eager voice from behind the counter.

  
  


Bilbo grinned as he made his way over to order a mug.

  
  


"Good evening, Milo" He said casually.

  
  


Milo smiled at him and asked,

  
  


"You were here awful late last night Mr. Baggins, I was sure you'd sleep the day away! Would you like your usual?" 

  
  


Bilbo nodded and leaned his elbows against the bar top.

  
  


"Yes, I'll have the usual. And how could I not stay here all night? What company! Talking to Tom Bombadil himself!" Bilbo shook his head. "That doesn't happen every night, you know."

  
  


Milo stopped what he was doing and turned to slowly look at Bilbo.

  
  


"Tom Bombadil, you say, sir?" He asked, slightly unnerved.

  
  


"Yes. Tom Bombadil." Bilbo replied quickly. "You served us ales last night, remember?"

  
  


Milo shook his head quietly. "I served ale to you sir. But no Tom Bombadil..."

  
  


Bilbo was flabbergasted. "What?" He asked, disbelief evident in his voice.

  
  


Milo took a deep breath and said simply. "You were alone last night. Not a soul came in with ye, and you sat all by yerself over there by the fire. So as I said, I served ale to you... and you alone."

  
  


Bilbo felt that same odd prickle in the back of his mind that he had felt last night. 

  
  


"But, I... you must have seen him! We came in together." Bilbo's mind was spinning; this made no sense at all. 

  
  


Milo shook his head as he slid Bilbo's mug toward him. "You were alone as sure as I'm standin' in front of you now, sir." He said firmly.

  
  


Bilbo nodded and thanked him. Making his way over to one of the empty chairs by the fire he sat down, fully confused. 

  
  


"He was here, in that chair sitting opposite from me last night. I know it I-"

  
  


Then it occurred to him. That odd feeling he had had earlier, that dreamlike state. That was it, it had all been a dream. A very real dream, but a dream nonetheless. There was no Tom Bombadil, and now he must have sounded like a fool to Milo. 

  
  


"A silly dream." He chuckled to himself as he reached into his bag for his pipe. Pulling it out he stopped; there was some paper wrapped around it. Unfurling it slowly, his breath caught in his throat.

  
  


_There is an inn, a merry old inn_

_Beneath an old grey hill..._

  
  


_~End~_


End file.
